


Cruel Summer

by ElliottRook



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Songfic, don't worry it ends happy, lots of implied sex but the explicit bit is at the end, yes I know in the year of our lord 2019 a songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 12:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21338113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliottRook/pseuds/ElliottRook
Summary: The last summer of earth was somehow actually the best of times and the worst of times, just like Dickens once wrote.In which Crowley tries the "last months on earth" line, Aziraphale goes for it, and pining ensues.Songfic for the Taylor Swift song, so obviously, that's recommended listening while you read =)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 82





	Cruel Summer

**Author's Note:**

> "I scream for whatever it's worth, 'I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?'"
> 
> It just had Aziraphale written all over it, and the more I listened, the more of it clicked into place. And here we are, a songfic in 2019.
> 
> Listen to the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ic8j13piAhQ Honestly, listen to the whole album, I very nearly feel like I could write a fic for every song on there. I won't, but there's a lot of fic fodder there.

_Fever dream high in the quiet of the night  
You know that I caught it_

“You know, even if we’ve done our best,” Crowley said, “Even if we’re right and he’s turned out perfectly balanced, he might still seize his power. Might all be for nought. World could still end.”

Aziraphale sighed deeply. “I know, dear. I just—have hope.” After turning in their resignations following years as nanny and gardener, there was nothing more to be done, really. Either the Apocalypse was coming or it wasn’t, and they needed to wash their hands of it. The idea had been to go back to the bookshop and have a bottle of wine to celebrate their “retirement,” but one turned into three, and with the late hour that was just enough to turn things introspective.

Crowley nodded. “‘Course you do. You’re an angel. But it’s worth considering that we might only have this summer left to enjoy this world. Birthday’s coming up.”

“I was rather trying _not_ to think about that,” Aziraphale said. “I would be so sad to lose it all. The wine. The _books_.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Yes. Well.” He set his wineglass down. “If there’s anything you’ve been putting off, I wouldn’t anymore. You know. Anything you’ve wanted to see, or...try...”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, thinking it over. He’d met all the authors he could’ve hoped to. He’d sampled every imaginable cuisine at least once, imbibed his share of the world’s wines. “I can’t think of anything I’ve left undone.” Cozy in his bookshop, he couldn’t think of anything else he could want but to continue like that for millennia more.

“Nothing, angel?” Crowley asked, a hiss implied even without an S sound to say it.

“No, nothing,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, and leaned back in his armchair. “Interesting. Content to die a virgin.” He folded his hands together, steepling his pointer fingers.

“Well, that’s awfully bold of you to assume—“ Aziraphale sputtered, but with one pointed look from Crowley (sans glasses by this point of the evening, of course) he stopped and sighed. “Well, all right, I _am_. But most angels just stay sexless, you know, it isn’t that strange...”

“Knew it!” Crowley said. “You’ve got the plumbing, too. You’re _curious_.” His demeanor usually vacillated between snake and crow, but just then he’d never, in all their time on earth, looked so much like a canary-fed cat.

Aziraphale didn’t have a good answer, exactly. Angels were usually sexless. They were _supposed_ to be sexless. It was just that lacking the equipment had made things a bit awkward with clothing fitters once men (the gender, not the species) had changed over to trousers and left the more skirt- and toga-like garments behind. Aziraphale had simply decided it would be more polite to be all present and correct, as it were. (To a human way of thinking, at least. The social mores were changing again and getting more inclusive, and he’d wondered if he oughtn’t to go back, but now it was just _there_ and, like many things in his life, he was simply _used_ to it.)

He finally settled on a frown. “Awfully bold of you to be _looking_.”

Crowley laughed, throwing his head back. “Wasn’t looking. Much. Could sense a difference in the energy, see it in how you walk...”

“I’m surprised you _can_ walk with one, tight as your trousers are,” Aziraphale grumbled, feeling like he’d completely lost control of the conversation.

Crowley practically _giggled_. “Why d’you think I walk like I do? And _now_ who’s _looking_?”

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley had gotten the better of him.

“Gonna miss Nanny’s skirts, I think,” Crowley mused. “Gave it a lot more room to flop around.”

“Oh—Crowley—this entire topic is _improper_,” Aziraphale scolded.

Crowley just grinned. “Angel. It’s _me_.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what that was supposed to change about any of it.

“Anyway,” Crowley started. “If you’re just going to go gentle into that good night, all...pure as the driven snow...guess I should be trying my luck in a singles bar or something, because really, they’re going to let me have it downstairs if I never even _tried_.”

Aziraphale suddenly felt a lot more sober. “You’ve never...?”

Crowley shrugged. “Humans never tempted me,” he said. “Does no good getting attached, they die so quick. Far as work goes...I’m not one of the lusty ones.” It was true. His evil schemes were more efficient and far-reaching. Seducing individual humans? Far too much time and effort for not much payback, on the soul scale. He would’ve been good at it, being Hell’s most approachable demon—he knew, and didn’t care—but it didn’t appeal to his _mind_.

Aziraphale pondered it for a moment, silently, until— “Were you suggesting that _you and I_ should—actually—“

Crowley nodded. “Know you. Trust you. You won’t freak out if anything goes supernatural...” He shrugged. “We do have a history of helping each other out, you know.”

“We _shouldn’t_.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he meant the past or this oddly tempting suggestion for the future.

“Yeah, but the world’s ending, maybe,” Crowley said. “I’m going to, with or without you. Would rather do it with you than some random...anyone. What do you say, angel?”

Aziraphale fought not to hyperventilate. He wished he could say he couldn’t believe he was even considering it, but of course it was Crowley and he always considered everything the demon suggested. He wasn’t sure how it hadn’t been his downfall literally centuries before.

Crowley tilted his head. “Mmm. Do you need to be seduced, is that it? I’ve been a little graceless, I’ll admit...” He got up from his chair and sauntered across to the couch where Aziraphale was sitting, the gait even more insouciant than usual, and he slipped down next to him. He walked a pair of fingers along the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “You’re beautiful, angel, I’ve always thought so...” he whispered. He leaned in closer, pressing to his side, and kissed the angel wetly under his ear.

Aziraphale shuddered. “Oh, _Crowley_—“

And then he realized what he was saying. “No! No, we—we can’t...”

“Clearly we can...if they were paying any attention to you, you would’ve been in trouble for hanging out with me a long, long time ago.” Crowley slid a hand onto Aziraphale’s thigh, towards the inside, bracing for a shove off that didn’t come.

“It’s just one more thing,” Crowley murmured, leaning closer. “The frivolous miracles, the wines, the books, the clothes...”

“Keeping up appearances,” Aziraphale said, lamely.

“Often as I’m here...people probably think we’re _together_...wouldn’t it just be keeping up appearances?” Crowley pointed out.

The truth was that neither of them had been at the bookshop often enough over the last few years, living at the Dowling residence, for anyone to think anything about either of them, but Aziraphale didn’t have enough presence of mind to point that out. Crowley was nuzzling at his neck again, and a moan slipped out of him, and then he was turning towards him to kiss him.

It was everything he’d imagined—_of course _he’d imagined, how could he not? He just hadn’t realized it had been mutual—as Crowley wound his arms around him. It was a lingering kiss, all heat, and then Crowley pulled back. “You’ve got a bed upstairs, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “All right. Come on.” He got up and offered Crowley both hands, and the demon took them, getting up and following him up to the flat.

It was cozy—in the sense that it was crowded—and not to Crowley’s taste, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t have to be all contemporary design and silk sheets. It was Aziraphale.

The angel led him into the bedroom and pulled down the quilt before sitting on the edge of the bed. He folded his hands in his lap and looked tentatively up at Crowley. “You’re quite sure...you want _me_, for this?”

Crowley straddled his lap, pushed him back to the bed, and kissed him soundly, leaving no doubts in Aziraphale’s mind.

_Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price  
You know that I bought it_

Aziraphale woke up alone the next morning and it came with entirely too many feelings. _Dirty bad wrong_, at first, but also _love love love_. He supposed the latter couldn’t be helped, being an angel, but the fact that he’d consented the night before meant that he couldn’t reasonably deny what he’d known nearly from the start.

He was _in love_ with Crowley.

Or, not with. He loved Crowley. Yes. Crowley had some measure of affection for him, trust in him, but it wasn’t the same.

Aziraphale could accept that. The world was ending. One perfect night with Crowley could be enough.

It could never be enough! But he’d take what he could get.

It was midmorning before he found the note, scrawled in Crowley’s scribbly cursive (as if everything he wrote was an autograph), neatly folded and left in Aziraphale’s cocoa mug (a silly gift from the demon himself), where he was certain to find it before going down to open the shop.

_Had some business this morning, Angel._   
_Next time my place, and I’ll buy you dinner first._   
_-AJ Crowley_

Aziraphale stared at it for a long time, heart swelling.

And then suddenly he found himself sputtering. “Next time?!”

_Killing me slow, out the window_  
_I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below_  
  
It was over a week before Aziraphale heard from Crowley again. Maybe, he mused, they’d crossed a line—gotten too close for Crowley. Too intimate. On the other hand, maybe Crowley had gotten a reprimand—but surely, if anything, he’d get a commendation for seducing an angel? Or did it not count if the angel was actually in love?

Maybe that was it. Maybe Crowley had seen just how in love Aziraphale was, and was giving him a cold shoulder. He’d only wanted to try sex, after all. There was a deep (misbegotten?) mutual trust there, but the demon hadn’t said a single word about feelings—well, feelings other than lust. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley even _could_ love, then hated himself for even thinking it. Crowley loved plenty of things. His Bentley and his plants and his bebop, for starters. Wine. Mischief.

Still, in the evenings, after the shop was closed, Aziraphale found himself looking out the flat’s windows, standing with his cocoa in hand, listening for the Bentley’s engine.

He knew it was silly. Crowley usually called first.

It didn’t feel much different when Crowley did finally call, nine days later, and asked Aziraphale to a sushi dinner. He set a late time and Aziraphale found himself pacing in front of the window, sans cocoa, but anticipation heightened. He heard the Bentley around the corner before anything else and his heart fluttered in his chest. He was always pleased to see Crowley, often even excited, but this was _different_. This was more.

This was _dangerous_.

But the world might be ending anyway.

The restaurant was nearly empty, and dark, and they curled together in a small booth. Crowley drank sake and only nibbled a few pieces of sushi off Aziraphale’s plate, happy to be there and yet seemingly impatient about it all.

Aziraphale struggled to eat, feeling both like he should be savoring it (it was Crowley’s treat and the chef knew him by name, crafting his meal by hand for him) and like he was too nervous to get it down at all.

“Sorry,” Crowley said, when the meal was nearly over. “Kept you waiting. Should’ve texted or something.”

“You can’t text the shop phone,” Aziraphale reminded him. “A ring would’ve been appreciated. I thought perhaps...you had regrets.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “Nooo. Oh _no_, angel.” He shook his head. “Just—caution. Busy. All me, not you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Crowley grinned. “So you’ll come home with me tonight?” It had been hanging in the air all evening, unsaid.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, as if it was easy, like he hadn’t been agonizing over whether he deserved to Fall for falling for Crowley.

It certainly felt easy when he pushed down the worries.

_Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes  
What doesn't kill me makes me want you more_

The third time, it took a little more convincing.

“Well, we did our experiment, didn’t we?” Aziraphale said, over wine, at Crowley’s again. “And it was wonderful. Amazing. Worth the wait,” he assured the demon. “But I can’t just keep doing it.”

Crowley was walking around the living room with his wineglass, and his wild gesticulations made Aziraphale glad that they’d chosen a moscato that evening, for the sake of Crowley’s carpet. “Well, see, as I see it, angel, you almost have to keep going,” he said.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He was more than curious to hear the reasoning behind this one.

Crowley nodded. “Well, let’s say they did catch you. Or suspected. You know, you had to confess it somehow,” he said. “Not that I think it’s a sin, but I guess I’m not the expert.”

Aziraphale motioned for him to continue, and Crowley threw his arms up. “See, so if they ask what you did wrong, and you say, 'well, I fucked the demon Crowley—'“

“Made love!” Aziraphale interrupted.

“Yeah, whatever,” Crowley said. “If you say ‘I slept with Crowley once,’ well, that’s one. One offense, one strike, what have you.”

Aziraphale nodded. “And if I’ve done it twice, then it’s two strikes,” he agreed.

“Right!” Crowley agreed. “_But_.”

“But?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley grinned. “Well, see, if you go in for a third time, tonight, say...then when they ask, instead of ‘I slept with Crowley three times,’ then you can say ‘oh, sorry, I’ve _been sleeping_ with Crowley.’ Sure, it’s a habit now, but with that phrasing you’re back down to one offense!” He held his arms out, as if he’d just finished a magic trick.

Aziraphale tilted his head. “There’s a bit of a sense of scale, you know. An affair is a more _serious_ offense than an...indiscretion.”

“Yeah, but ultimately it’s only one black mark,” Crowley said. “One _affair_, if that’s what we’re calling this.”

Aziraphale fidgeted for a moment, but nodded. “I suppose you have a point...”

Crowley sat on the sofa with him and wrapped his wineglass arm around his neck. “Should at least do it once more. But as many times as you want, it’d all come out the same.”

Aziraphale kissed him before the guilt could persuade him not to.

_And it's new, the shape of your body_   
_It's blue, the feeling I've got_   
_And it's ooh, whoa_   
_It's a cruel summer_

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how he could be so ecstatic and so sad at the same time. He reflected, vaguely, that that was probably what he _ought_ to be feeling about Armageddon—glad that everything was coming together, and also a little sad to lose Earth.

(If they hadn’t successfully thwarted it—they wouldn’t know until August, and that was the problem.)

Every time he and the demon found their way into each other’s beds, it was perfect bliss. Aziraphale didn’t regret taking the gamble, after all. Only it bothered him that that was all it was. Six thousand years and even the sharing of the most intimate intimacy and Crowley showed no signs of being in love with him.

And maybe it was just as well, if they _hadn’t_ stopped the Great Plan and were only going to be ripped apart anyway. Maybe better not to have been in love with each other (Aziraphale couldn’t help but love Crowley, of course), to both just die rather than be ripped from each other’s loving arms.

(That wasn’t what the poets said, but poets didn’t live so long, either.)

_It's cool, that's what I tell him_   
_No rules in breakable heaven_   
_But ooh, whoa_   
_It's a cruel summer_   
_With you_

“You know, angel...are you really all right with this?” Crowley asked one night, after a rather intense session. He was sitting up in his bed, Aziraphale stretched out beside him, in the wee hours, lights dimmed so they didn’t have to see each other’s eyes.

Easier to lie.

The demon idly traced a pattern up and down Aziraphale’s arm with gentle fingertips.

Aziraphale took too long to answer. “Of course,” he said. “The deed’s done—over and over,” he said. “Why ask now?”

“Just want to be sure you’re still comfortable, is all,” Crowley said. “I’m having fun, still, but you know you can back out anytime, if you change your mind about me.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he _could_ change his mind, not now that he was in love.

“Of course I am,” Aziraphale assured him.

“Just—it’s no strings, angel. You’re only here if you want to be.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I know. No rules. No commitment.” No matter how much he ached for it. He wasn’t going to ask for it—he could lose it all and it was too much to risk. Even if he couldn’t have Crowley the way he truly wanted, he still _needed_ Crowley.

Crowley ran a hand through Aziraphale’s hair, so tenderly, and even in the dim light the angel could see him smiling. “Right. No rules. Just fun.” He shifted to lay down beside the angel and rolled close to kiss him softly. “Wake me when you want to go home, I’ll drive you,” he murmured, before turning and putting his back to him.

Aziraphale resisted the urge to press up to his back and hold him.

Crowley woke up the next morning without Aziraphale’s help.

Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to go home, and still didn’t even when they got in the Bentley after breakfast.

_Hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine  
I'm not dying_

“Have you thought about what happens if we _did_ raise the kid neutral?” Crowley asked one night.

They’d been out drinking, and Crowley was walking Aziraphale back to the shop. They’d paused on the pavement, illuminated faintly by a drink dispenser.

“You mean...what I’d do if Armageddon doesn’t come to fruition?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Just gonna...keep going with the bookshop?”

“Isn’t that why we did what we did?” Aziraphale asked. “Because we wanted to keep going?”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. “Guess so. Because life is good and so many humans are happy.”

“Right. Humans.”

Crowley smiled, fang-like in the dark, and tipped his head down, kicking idly at the pavement. “I got a feeling, Aziraphale. Somehow I’m going to make it out. And I hope you are, too.”

_We say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times  
We're not trying_

Aziraphale suspected then that Crowley knew his feelings, but it only got worse as July wore on and the due date loomed closer.

“Sometimes we have so much fun I forget it’s all due to come crashing down,” Crowley told Aziraphale, over dinner, French cuisine and a beautiful red wine.

Aziraphale sighed. “I wish I could forget.”

Crowley shrugged. “Makes me think this would be worth keeping up,” he said. “Really giving it a go, you and me.”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt to his throat. “Oh, really?”

Crowley sighed. “Not much point if the world’s ending. It would only make it worse, I think.”

Well, at least they were on the same page. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Probably better not to chance it,” he said, slowly. “Imagine if we got angry at each other now and the world came to an end.”

“Yeah. Best not to fuck with this easy, breezy thing,” Crowley agreed. “No strings.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Right. Let’s not make more of it than there is.” There was already so much more there than he was willing to admit to.

_So cut the headlights, summer's a knife_   
_I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone_   
_Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes_   
_And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know_

Crowley parked the Bentley out front of the bookshop. “I’m sorry, angel.”

Aziraphale took in a deep breath. “I just—she wasn’t a demon, there was no need—“

“I can’t know she wasn’t a spy for one of the others,” Crowley said. “We had an entire order of Satanic nuns once, if you recall. It’s not impossible that someone like Hastur would have eyes on me.” He turned off the lights. “You told Shakespeare we weren’t friends, I don’t see why it’s so different that I told the waitress we aren’t a couple.”

Aziraphale sighed. He wasn’t sure why it had stung so badly, either. “I guess—back then we weren’t...”

Crowley shook his head. “We’re still not a couple, Aziraphale, or had you forgotten?”

“No, of course not,” Aziraphale insisted. “We couldn’t be, no point—“ All the excuses they’d been making to each other for months. “Anyway. Are you coming up?”

Crowley did come up, and Aziraphale managed to keep his tears bottled up until after he’d left the next morning.

_I'm drunk in the back of the car_   
_And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar_   
_Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true_   
_I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you_

Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel childish. The cab driver was giving him sympathetic glances in the rear view mirror, as he sobbed into his handkerchief.

“Oh—I’m all right,” he told her. “It’s just—he’s my best friend and I’m in love with him but he—he—he wouldn’t even drive me home tonight,” he said. “He thought he saw—“ Ligur. “Someone he knew, and said I had to leave, we couldn’t be seen—and he’s right, of course he’s right, but—“

“That’s mean,” the driver told him. “If he won’t admit you’re together, you can do better.”

“Oh—we—we’re _not_ together.” Aziraphale blew his nose and tried to ignore the look of pity the driver gave him. “He really would be in so much trouble with his—family—“

“Then does he need his family?” she snapped. “No. If they’re keeping him away from his love, if that’s all it is—then maybe you’re not better off without him, but he’s better off without them. They’re not crying their eyes out over him.”

Aziraphale dabbed at his eyes. “Quite right, dear.”

He tipped her double his usual generous amount.

_And I snuck in through the garden gate  
Every night that summer just to seal my fate_

Aziraphale always got off the bus a stop early, so he could walk more of the way to Crowley’s flat. Mayfair was a beautiful neighborhood and he enjoyed looking at it. He told himself that that was why he took the walk, and not the sense of shame that led him around the side of Crowley’s building, away from the lobby and the doorman. It was lovely, and safer—not that Crowley’s fellow demons even knew where his flat was, but no telling when they might figure it out and start watching.

Aziraphale could go in through the side entrance, off the gorgeous patio with a garden that was only outshone by the plants seven floors up, because Crowley had given him a key. “Sssafer,” he’d told Aziraphale about that, also.

Safer. Hidden. Secreted away.

Aziraphale didn’t like secrets. It felt too close to a lie, and the closer the Antichrist’s birthday got, the more guilt he felt about it, regardless of the name of the sin.

It didn’t stop him, though. He kept riding the elevator up and doing nothing to thwart Crowley’s wiles.

Crowley was already drunk when he let himself in, which wasn’t surprising.

“It’s six days away,” Crowley lamented. “We could number the _hours_ if I wasn’t too drunk for maths.”

Aziraphale nodded glumly. “One hundred fifty-nine, give or take some minutes,” he agreed.

“That’s not better, angel! Fuck, you should be drunk, too,” Crowley said. The bottle he held out towards Aziraphale wasn’t wine, like usual, but a twenty-five-year old Scotch. Aziraphale took the bottle and drank straight from it. No time to let it go to waste, or to waste with getting a glass.

It didn’t take Aziraphale long to catch up, with an alcohol tolerance mostly built on wine.

They didn’t get far when they eventually tumbled into bed. Clothes were stripped and put askew, buttons undone, but before they could start, Crowley pulled back and put his head in his hands, rocking himself. “Damn it all! I don’t want it to be over!”

When Aziraphale reached out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, he realized the demon was crying. “Dear—“

“Fuck, Aziraphale, what—what are we going to do? If there’s a war—I’m no soldier. I don’t want to be up front doing the killing. _I_ never had a flaming sword—“

“I’m sure you’ll defend yourself just fine, you always come out on top,” Aziraphale soothed.

“And what if I do?” Crowley asked. “What if everyone winds up dead and it’s you and me facing each other at the last?”

Aziraphale winced. “I couldn’t kill you.”

“They’d know about us,” Crowley sobbed. “And I don’t know what would be worse, them killing us or them just keeping us _apart_, alive, for eternity...I can’t handle this, Aziraphale.” He leaned into Aziraphale’s shoulder, soaking his undershirt with tears. “I can’t stand—what if this is the last time—“

“We have nearly a week,” Aziraphale said, as if that could ever be enough time. Even if it was, they were going to be entirely too busy to meet up just to be together. The end of the world was finally, actually _nigh_.

That night they fell asleep holding each other, half-dressed, half-knowing it would be the last time they could see each other like that.

Aziraphale woke first and sneaked out, unable to bear the thought of voicing any of it, of looking in Crowley’s eyes and saying anything as tender as he felt.

_And I scream, "For whatever it's worth  
I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"_

They saw each other again, of course, trying their damnedest to stop Armageddon, and they didn’t speak a word about their friendship, or whatever it was now that it had evolved.

Then it worked.

Armageddon didn’t.

Time stretched before them in a literal infinity.

Things were set right, their two fires undone, the world put back mostly how it was before.

They were both rattled enough after everything to grasp each other’s hands on the bus home to London, but too rattled to talk about it.

There was the matter of their trials, first, and even wearing each other’s faces, hiding in each other’s houses, they still couldn’t confront what they meant to each other, even while they were proving it.

There was lunch at the Ritz, which felt like a sigh of relief. They were too happy to be there at all to mar the moment with questioning it, even as they toasted it.

They walked to Crowley’s flat, where actual Crowley ran over and hugged the Bentley; or at least tried, pressing to it, cheek and arms sprawled across its top. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Aziraphale patted his back. “Could you take me back to the shop?” he asked. “I’m anxious to get back to the books...see the new ones...”

Crowley turned and gave him a fond smile. “Yeah, ‘course, angel,” he said, eyes a bit teary. “Just gotta go get the keys, come on.” He headed for the patio. “...unless you’re not comfortable coming up now? You could wait?”

Aziraphale frowned. “I can come with,” he said, following after the demon.

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, just—thought with things all back to normal—just like it was before...”

“What, that I wouldn’t—I’ve been up before...”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, “But...it’s over with,” he pointed out. “Thought...we’d be going back. You know. Hereditary enemies, can’t be seen together...world’s not ending. Eternity’s a long time now.”

“Well, but—we’re not—they’re not watching, surely...“ He halted in the garden. “It’s not as if I can un-see your flat. Or—or _you_—“

Crowley winced. “Yeah, you’re probably sorry about that, now, huh?” He sighed. “Sorry—sorry I tempted you for no good reason. Dragged you down...”

Aziraphale looked at him incredulously. “So—so what, now—now you’ve had your fun, and—and you don’t want—we’re not going to—“ He felt his heart drop to his stomach, impossible as that was. He teared up in spite of his best efforts.

“Oh, angel, there’s worse sins—I’m sure they’re not even going to notice—“ Crowley tried. He came closer and put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “You know I’d never tattle on you, or the Arrangement never would’ve lasted...”

Aziraphale realized suddenly that being freed from their sides meant the Arrangement was over, too, and that their ever-flimsy excuse to see each other was gone. If they were going to spend time together now it was only going to be because they _wanted_ to, no credible justifications otherwise. It only made him cry harder, as it seemed Crowley was trying to get out of it.

“Angel, dear, whatever is the matter?” Crowley asked, clearly confused. “Don’t you see? It’s all over, we got away—“

“I don’t want it to be over!” Aziraphale snapped. “I want to keep seeing you, I want to see you every day, Crowley, I want—I want—“

It wasn’t the first time he’d ever thought about what he wanted to do with his life, but it was the first time he’d done it without scheming some way to make it sound like what he wanted also happened to be for the greater good of Heaven.

He just _wanted_, nearly burned with the ache of wanting.

And what he wanted was Crowley.

“You don’t want to hear it, but I love you, Crowley! I don’t want any of it to stop.”

_He looks up, grinning like a devil_

Crowley lowered his head, raising a hand to pull his glasses off and tuck them away. “When...when did you go and do a fool thing like fall in love with me, angel?” he asked, hesitantly.

Aziraphale sighed. “I was in love with you the whole time,” he admitted. “Before we ever—made love—“

Crowley lifted his head and met his eyes with the widest smile. “_Angel_.”

He laughed happily, and Aziraphale groaned. “It isn’t nice to make fun, Crowley,” he said, wounded.

“Make—Aziraphale, no—“ Before he could say the wrong thing again, after a whole summer of both of them apparently saying the wrong thing, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the lapels and kissed him, right in the courtyard for literally God and everyone to see.

Aziraphale’s hands flapped for a second before he wrapped his arms around the demon, smoothing his hands over his back, holding him close. Crowley slid his hands up around Aziraphale’s neck, threading one into dandelion fluff curls. He didn’t break the kiss until he was sure Aziraphale was breathless from it.

He pulled back and they stared at each other for a long moment. “Angel,” he finally said, again. “I was in love with you too—I mean, I _am_. I’ve never not loved you, I wanted to run away with you and avoid all the mess here—I _begged_—I—I didn’t think I could’ve been much plainer...except I guess I simply didn’t say the words. I love you. I do love you. It’s _always_ been you, Aziraphale.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You were the one saying no. Saying you didn’t even _like_ me. Hereditary enemies...”

Aziraphale’s entire world turned on a dime, his own cruel words being cast back in his face. The whole time. Of course. Of course Crowley would think he wasn’t deserving of Aziraphale’s love, Aziraphale had spent centuries telling him so—and Crowley believed that he wouldn’t lie.

He started crying again, softer. “I lied,” he murmured. “I’ve always loved you, always trusted you—that—that was for the benefit of my superiors...”

Crowley nodded. “And we don’t have to worry about them anymore...”

“I just want to be with you,” Aziraphale said. “See you every day, share your bed every night. We should be _partners_.”

Crowley hugged him close again and buried his face against Aziraphale’s neck. “You should come up,” he murmured. “Stay a while. Stay a few _days_. Want to make love to you and _tell_ you—don’t want to play around anymore.”

Aziraphale kissed his temple. “Honesty from here on out, love?”

Crowley grinned. “Yes, angel. Honesty. No secrets.”

“Let’s go up,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’ll be keeping the key.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Crowley agreed. “C’mon, angel.”

They held hands all the way up the lift, and into the flat. Crowley’s lips were on Aziraphale’s as soon as the door closed behind them, but it was gentle and sweet, though still urgent. Everything had changed, and both of them felt the need to affirm it, to reassure the other that it was real now.

“Bed, angel?” Crowley asked, and for the first time there were no guilty second thoughts, no coaxing necessary. Aziraphale took his hand and led the way right into the bedroom.

Crowley couldn’t stand to be more than a few inches away from him. They stood close together, stripping each other to the waist, well-practiced by now, but it felt like the first time with the way their fingers lingered on skin, with the reverence they had for each other.

They shared a few lingering kisses, too, and when Crowley backed Aziraphale towards the bed it was with his lips pressed to his neck.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley down with him. “I love you,” he whispered, as they laid side-by-side, face-to-face.

Crowley smiled—genuinely, not a smirk—and kissed him. “Loved you since Eden, angel,” he murmured, nuzzling at his neck. “Hated when I had to leave...always wanted to be close to you...” He trailed a hand down to unfasten Aziraphale’s trousers and slip his slender fingers inside, drawing a gasp from the angel.

Aziraphale stroked his cheek and pulled him in for another kiss, rolling towards his touch—until he rolled them both, pinning Crowley down. He sat back between his legs and returned the favor, peeling Crowley’s trousers and underwear off—it always took too long (for Aziraphale’s taste) for the demon to get them off of himself. “Gorgeous, love,” Aziraphale murmured. “Can finally worship you properly.” He laid on Crowley, pressing kisses to his stomach and working his way up to his chest.

Crowley curled a hand in his hair. “Should be worshiping _you_, you’re the angel...”

“Hush. I’ve been a bastard,” Aziraphale said. “Not just enough of one. An out-an-out one to you, for far too long.”

Crowley gasped softly. Aziraphale kindly didn’t comment on how glassy his eyes got. He just caught the demon’s lips in a kiss, stroking his cheek, pouring all his affection into it. Crowley cupped his face in return, keeping him close.

Eventually Crowley paused, but only to finish stripping Aziraphale, too, so they could press together completely. Aziraphale gasped in delight at the drag of their cocks against each other, and moaned as Crowley moved his lips to his neck.

Crowley pushed gently, putting them both on their sides again, so he could move a little easier, rolling his hips. “Like this?” he asked. “Or—inside?”

“Like this,” Aziraphale agreed, before kissing him again, holding him close, hands dragging over his back.

Crowley wrapped a hand around both their cocks to keep them together, but did most of the moving with his hips, moaning against Aziraphale’s mouth.

Crowley came first, shaking for a moment, hand tightening slightly. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s cock twitching against his and shivered. He kissed Crowley’s forehead. “Good?”

“Better’n good,” Crowley murmured. “Mmm...” He nuzzled at Aziraphale’s neck. “Love you. Gimme half a second...” He took a moment to catch his breath, and then he was sliding down Aziraphale’s body, trailing kisses as he went.

Aziraphale rolled onto his back, and Crowley got between his legs, bending to lap at the head of Aziraphale’s cock. He only teased for a moment before sinking down on him, sucking softly. Aziraphale gasped, hips arching up. By then Crowley was used to it, and simply adjusted, taking him deeper, playing his tongue along the underside. Aziraphale was already keyed up and it only took a moment or two for him to spill down Crowley’s throat.

Crowley slithered up Aziraphale’s body, laying on his chest, soaking in the warmth. “I love you, angel,” he reminded him. “Love you so much.”

Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair, smiling fondly. “I adore you, dear boy, I’ve always loved you.” He traced his thumb along Crowley’s lips. “And I want to go again.”

Crowley chuckled. “No objections here, love.”

Aziraphale flipped them over and attacked Crowley’s neck with a peppering of kisses, making the demon laugh happily. Things had been a bit businesslike in the past, and to share in such obvious, joyful affection made things feel better in an entirely different way—there was no regret or pining staining the moment anymore, no secrets being held back. They loved each other and they both knew it.

Aziraphale fumbled with the nightstand drawer and got out the bottle of lube kept there—miracled there, their second time, and he was starting to suspect it was being kept full with a similar miracle—and slicked up his fingers to open Crowley up.

Crowley nudged him back. “Mmm. No. Closer,” he said. “Sit up.” Aziraphale did as he was asked, and Crowley straddled his lap, arms around his neck. Aziraphale kissed him warmly, holding him close, an arm around him to start fingering him.

Crowley writhed and shivered. Aziraphale had quickly learned exactly where to press to tease and drive him wild, and he was putting the knowledge to good use.

It wasn’t long before Aziraphale was laying Crowley down again, nuzzling at his neck. Crowley spread his legs and tipped his hips up, and Aziraphale pressed inside of him with a happy groan.

Crowley nipped at Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Deeper, angel,” he begged, grabbing at the angel’s arse until Aziraphale bottomed out. He held still until Crowley told him to move, and he started the slow slide in and out.

Crowley writhed under him, feeling like Aziraphale was finally really letting go—for once there wasn’t caution or shame or fear making him restrain himself. Crowley laughed for the sheer joy of it. “_Yes_, angel—yes!”

Aziraphale sped up, delighted. “Love you—“ he panted, drinking in the sight of Crowley spread under him. Crowley grinned and pulled him down for a lingering kiss, rolling his hips up to meet him, keeping a rhythm together. He curled his hands into Aziraphale’s hair, keeping him close.

Aziraphale moaned into his mouth, driving in as deep as he could, pulling back, wanting nothing more than to please Crowley, to put him over that edge, not as an experiment or an obligation but just because he loved him and wanted him to feel that way.

Crowley came suddenly, with a happy gasp, tossing his head back. “Angel—“

Aziraphale shivered as Crowley’s body tightened around him, and he came, too, driving in as far as he could. “Oh, _Crowley_...”

When they were both done, Aziraphale slid out and laid next to him. Crowley rolled over and laid on him, cheek to his chest. “Oh, angel...”

Aziraphale smoothed a hand across his back. “Am I crazy, or was that _better_?”

Crowley shook his head. “It was. No holding back. Oh, I _love_ you...”

Aziraphale kissed his hair. “I love you, darling.”

“Stay?” Crowley murmured. “Tonight, tomorrow...for a while?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I think we should go out and celebrate tonight—“

“We just celebrated,” Crowley pointed out, chuckling.

“That was the world not ending. This would be celebrating this start with you,” Aziraphale murmured. “We should go out, but I’m not keen to part ways with you.”

Crowley kissed his chest. “All right, angel, we’ll celebrate. It’s been six thousand years coming.” He grinned wickedly. “And now _we_ will be.”

“Oh, you dirty rascal,” Aziraphale chided. “But...that does sound like a good plan.”

Crowley kissed the underside of his chin. “All right. You’re stuck with me now.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “That’s what I wanted all along, anyway.”


End file.
